


To Chase Away the Cold and Dark

by AndrastesKnickerweasle



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Emotional Constipation, Fenders Family Secret Santa 2015, Fenris POV, First Day, Fluff, Holiday Cliches, M/M, Pining, Romance, Satinalia, Smut, Vague mention of past Danarius/Fenris, Wintersend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrastesKnickerweasle/pseuds/AndrastesKnickerweasle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since escaping Tevinter, Fenris could scarcely remember a time when he wasn’t cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Satinalia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedemisextherapist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thedemisextherapist).



> So let me start out by saying that I am a terrible Fenders Secret Santa! This is for thedemisextherapist, but since I am full of tumblr FAIL, the messages they were sending were not getting to me. So while I sadly did not know what they actually wanted for their Fenders Holidays, I wanted them to get something, so I started looking into the Thedas holidays and ended up with this. Suffice it to say, it got a bit away from me XD So I hope you don't hate this thedemisextherapist, and feel free to comment what you do actually want, and we'll see if I can't make that happen too in the near future ;)

**1 Firstfall 9:33 Dragon**

 

Ever since escaping Tevinter, Fenris could scarcely remember a time when he wasn’t cold.

With its thriving slave trade and flagrant use of blood magic, the Imperium had little to recommend it in Fenris’ opinion.  Though if one thing could be said for Tevinter, at least it had been warm.  When it came to armor, the elf had always rejected the thick padding and heavy chainmail that other warriors tended to wear in favor of lighter protection that gave him more freedom of movement, and it had always served him well in the warm climate of the north.  Though now that he found himself in the Vinmarks just outside of Kirkwall as another blighted winter set in, Fenris was beginning to seriously rethink that decision.

The elf scowled and fought to restrain the shiver that threatened to course through him as another frigid gust whipped across Sundermount.  He had escaped Danarius, torn Hadriana’s vile heart from her chest, and managed to carve out some semblance of a life for himself despite not having the first idea how a free man was supposed to live.  Fenris had weathered deplorable conditions and unspeakable horrors that would have caused lesser men to break, and had not only survived, but thrived.  So he would be _damned_ if he were bested by a bit of a cool breez- “Achoo!”  _Fasta vass!_

“Just say the word Fenris…”

Fenris grit his teeth and absolutely refused to grace the abomination’s damn near singsong offer with a reply.  The insufferable mage had been flitting about the campsite setting up their party’s tents, grinning smugly all the while, confident in his foolish belief that Fenris would eventually cave in and ask for his assistance.  It would never happen.

He would never resort to magic to solve his problems, especially when his own two hands were more than capable of starting one measly fire.  Even if the newly fallen snow had wet what little wood could be found near the base of the mountain that failed to shelter them from the chill winds, as Hawke had incorrectly assumed it would.  Hawke, who in his infinite wisdom just so happen to forget he had their only flint in his pack as he trekked down to the Dalish camp with the witch to collect her blighted magic dagger. 

It did not matter that the abomination could conjure up a roaring fire with the wave of his hand, it was the principle of the thing!  Fenris did not need the mage's help to dry the wood or make the flames spring to life and melt away the ice crystals the elf could feel forming on his shaking fingertips and ears.  Flames that would undoubtedly glimmer against that lock of soft looking blonde hair that had fallen out of the mage’s half ponytail, making it shimmer with highlights of auburn and gold, the warm colors mirroring his expressive eyes-

The elf frowned and resolutely shook his head, willing away tempting thoughts of warmth… and disturbing thoughts of the abomination.  Fenris was loathe to admit that he had found the irritating man attractive since the first time he’d seem him, with his tall lean frame, handsome features and striking amber eyes… right up until the mage had opened his fool mouth.  After that Fenris was more often consumed with the desire to punch the smug look off the other man’s face rather than kiss it off his smirking lips.

Fenris glowered at the mage as his long limbs folded into a crouch across from their would-be fire.

“You know, for someone who calls _me_ a fool, you’re being awfully ridiculous about this.”  The mage teased with a smirk.

“I am perfectly capable of building a fire, unlike _some_ members of our party who rely upon the crutch of magic.”  The elf grumbled in return as he rearranged the small amount of kindling he’d managed to scrape together.

“How about relying on the crutch of common bloody sense to wear a coat up here, or shoes for that matter?!”  Anders asked incredulously.

“The witch did not wear shoes here either.”  Fenris replied petulantly as he scowled and tucked his blue toes more securely underneath his crossed legs.

The mage scoffed, “Yes, because our resident blood mage is the model for sound decisions.”

“I have never had need of a coat!”  Fenris snapped defensively before grumbling under his breath, “Tevinter was never this cold.”

Anders’ eyebrows shot up.  “Wait, was that a hint of nostalgia for your beloved homeland I detect?”

“Tevinter was a deplorable showcase of the wasteful excess and unending cruelty of mages… but that does not preclude it from having favorable weather.”  The elf muttered defensively.

“Oh I'm sure it’s a _charming_ vacation spot.  I’d just always pictured it having never ending fire and brimstone raining down, the way you go on about it.”

“With all the Magisters around it often did,” Fenris replied dryly, “Perhaps that is why it was so much warmer.”

“I’m sure I could conjure up some fiery damnation for you Fenris, if you’re homesick.”  Anders offered with a smirk.

Fenris merely scoffed and bent back to his task, the ludicrous idea that he was homesick not even worth commenting on.  The elf had never really had a place to call home until recently, if his former Master’s decrepit mansion could even be counted as such.  Fenris wasn't entirely certain what having a “home” rather than a place he slept truly meant, but he was certain it was not supposed to involve torture, abuse and blood magic.  Then again the witch’s home may involve blood magic, but unless pressed he had no intention of paying her a social call to find out.

As though the abomination were reading his thoughts, Anders let out a dramatic sigh.  “Andraste's Tits what is taking Hawke and Merrill so long?!”  He rolled his eyes and tucked his hands underneath his coat with a huff, his breath clouding the chilled air like the smoke Fenris wished his pitiful attempt at a fire would produce.

“You could always head down to the Dalish encampment and find out.”  Fenris growled as his hands sped up spinning the stick on the damp board and meager kindling with equal parts frustration and desperation.  The uneven places where limbs had been broken off the branch scraped and cut into his chilled hands, but the elf could scarcely feel them at this point, so it hardly mattered.

"And deny you the pleasure of my company?  Never!”  The mage’s fogged breath did nothing to obscure his obnoxious smirk.  “Besides,” he continued as his lips turned down into a slight frown, “I agreed to come and help Hawke with that giant spider thing, but I'll have no part in what Merrill is doing with that mirror.”

Fenris nodded, silently agreeing with the mage for once, but seeing no benefit in telling him so.  He looked down to his task once more, only to find Anders’ long fingered hands reaching toward his own.  His lungs stung with frozen air as he gasped sharply.  Concerned golden eyes met his, suddenly inches away, as heat seeped into his hands and raced up his arms until he felt it tingling all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Would you stop?!” Anders hissed, his chastising tone at odds with the gentle way he squeezed Fenris’ frozen fingers, his thumbs running absent circles across the chilled flesh.  “Your hands are bleeding- sweet Maker Fenris, they’re like ice-“

The mage’s words ended in a strangled gasp as Fenris activated his tattoos and phased his hands straight through Anders’ grasp to reach up and tightly grip his feathered coat.  “You _dare_ to use magic on me against my will?!”  Fenris shouted as he crowded into the mage’s space.

Anders’ raised his hands and furrowed his eyebrows.  Despite being at the mercy of an elf that often proclaimed his bitter hatred for him and had the ability to rip his heart from his chest with relative ease, the mage’s eyes shown with annoyance rather than fear.  Fenris wanted dearly to find that infuriating, rather than the frankly confusing sense of relief he found instead. 

“It wasn’t magic you idiot!”  Anders spat out indignantly.

Emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “Then how were your hands so warm, if not by magic?!” 

The mage glared right back, a smug superiority swimming through the golden slits like the cats he so favored.  “If it’s _magic_ to wear a blighted coat in the middle of winter to put your hands in and keep them warm, then best call me a bloody maleficar!”

“But- there was… tingling.”  Fenris replied with a hint of uncertainty, his grip loosening a fraction.

“Oh,” a red-gold eyebrow quirked with interest, “ _Was_ there now?”  Fenris’ eyes widened as the mage shifted closer, their noses suddenly brushing ever so slightly.  _Kaffas even his nose is warm_.  Fenris’ entire body stiffened as he willed himself not to move further toward the tempting heat the other man seemed to radiate, or Maker forbid _nuzzle_ against him.  “Fenris…”  Anders’ breathed against his lips, sending the elf’s skin tingling in a way Fenris suspected had less to do with magic and more to do with how damnably attractive the aggravating mage was.  “Your…”  His honey brown eyes darted down to Fenris’ slightly parted lips, a dash of pink tongue peeking out to wet the mage’s own.  Fenris felt as though someone else must have taken control of his body, for there would be no other reason for him to lean in toward the mage, no reason for his eyes to begin to slide shut seemingly of their own accord, “…your lips are turning blue.”  The mage whispered.

The elf’s eyes snapped open once more to meet Anders’ wicked smirk, his amber eyes dancing with barely contained amusement.  “Vishante kaffas!”  Fenris violently pushed the mage away, looking anywhere but him and shoving his hands underneath his own unsheltered arms as his cheeks and ears burned, the bastard abomination laughing all the while.

Fenris resigned himself to sitting there in the cold all night and seething.  He wanted to rage at Anders, to demand what the mage had been playing at… but that would take admitting the reaction he had had to him, admitting he had almost...  He feared he had already revealed too much as it was.

The elf was shaken from his brooding by a bundle of cloth and feathers hitting the side of his face.  “Since you won’t let me start a fire, at least wear that you stubborn bastard.  I swear, who goes into the mountains, in winter, wearing a getup that shows almost as much skin as Isabela?!  At least _she_ wears shoes!”

“I do not need your help or charity abomination!”  Fenris snapped and tossed the garment back before turning resolutely away from the mage.

The elf’s brands flared for a split second in irritation as the coat hit him in the back.  “Too bad.”  Anders replied breezily.

Fenris’ fist tightened on the mage’s ratty coat, dearly wishing he were wearing his gauntlets so he could rip it to shreds.  “I am not so weak that I would allow a _fragile_ mage that needs _constant_ protection go cold.”  He sneered and threw the coat back.

Anders easily caught the bundle and let out a bark of laughter.  “Says the one I patch up more often than any of the other warriors combined.”  He quickly retorted as he tossed it back.

The elf snatched the coat and raised his arm to quickly release it, intending to once again send it flying at the abomination’s stupidly handsome face.  Fenris blinked in surprise when he released the garment, only to have it to slam into a solid invisible wall.  “MAGE!” 

Anders grinned as the blue glow faded from his fingertips after calling forth a barrier.  “Technically it’s magic on the area directly surrounding you, not on _you_ , before you start.”  That damn smug smirk was back in full force as he continued, “And as for being a fragile mage, when it comes to cold, seems like _you’re_ the fragile Tevinter flower.  I’m from the Anderfels, I can handle a bit of a chill.”

"Release the barrier now mage!”

“Put on the coat elf.”

They glared at one another for what felt like an eternity before Fenris slowly brought the abomination’s coat to his nose.  He took a tentative sniff and grimaced.  “It smells like sewage and vomit.”

That wiped the grin from the mage’s face handily enough.  “Well you smell like a distillery most of the time, with _lovely_ coppery notes of blood and gore.  I run a free clinic in Darktown, what’s _your_ excuse?!”

Fenris looked away and clenched the weathered fabric tightly.  In truth the coat had simply smelled like the mage, which hadn’t been… entirely unpleasant.  It smelled of healing herbs, clean cotton bandages and the green scent that lingered before a lightning storm… it smelled of Anders.  Whereas Fenris himself apparently smelled of wine and death.  That in itself was unsurprising, what was surprising was how much it had stung. 

“I will not wear your coat mage.  Are you to hold me prisoner here?  Am I to be entrapped again by yet another Magister?”  Fenris said bitterly, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes.

“Oh for the love of...” a quick flash of blue heralded the barrier coming down, “There, happy now?”  Anders snapped.  The only answer he received was the much contested coat hitting him in the face.

They sat in silence for a long while.  Anders shifted uncomfortably and shivered on occasion, sometimes reaching out and opening his mouth to speak before thinking better of it when Fenris glanced at him out the corner of his eye.  The elf had gone past the point of shivering, which he distantly knew wasn’t a good sign, but he paid it no mind as his increasingly sluggish thoughts replayed the argument…

“At least I wear trousers.”  Fenris grumbled defiantly to himself.

“What?!”

Fenris could only believe it was the cold seeping into his brain that had failed to stop that little gem from sneaking past.  He sighed, “You said at least Isabela wears shoes, well… at least I wear trousers.”

It started out as a surprised bark of laughter, which cascaded into chuckles, and before long Anders was shaking with mirth.  It lacked the harsh tang of mockery that Fenris so often heard in his laugh, the good natured sound instead coming out joyful and… rather nice.  Fenris’ lips twitched up traitorously by a fraction.

“You know Fenris,” Anders smiled and wiped a tear from his eye as he caught his breath, “I think that’s one thing we can finally agree on!”

Fenris dared to dart his eyes up to meet the mage’s golden ones, and was surprised to find his body could still summon up a flush of heat on the tips of his ears as he found Anders smiling warmly back at him without a hint of the mockery from before.  The moment was broken just as quickly as a shiver shook the mage's frame and he briskly rubbed his hands together.  The warrior swallowed thickly and looked away as an unexpected pang of guilt pierced his chest. 

“So why have you not forced your magic on me by now mage?!”  Fenris snapped with undue harshness, feeling the need to get back onto familiar footing quickly, rather than this dangerous land of shared laughter and a fluttering in his stomach that he couldn't explain when he looked into Anders’ eyes.  “You are clearly cold as well, what is stopping you from exerting your will just as the rest of your kind does for your own benefit?!”

The elf settled in for the comforting argument to begin anew, for the calming reassurance that the unwanted attraction and confusing feelings the mage inspired could never come to anything.

“Justice.”  The mage answered with a sigh.  Fenris could only blink at the unexpected answer.  “Were it up to me I would have started a fire ages ago to keep your stubborn arse from freezing to death, but Justice… he thinks you’ve had more than enough magic forced upon you.”  Anders gave him a crooked grin, “So we agreed that I would have to wait and let you lose consciousness from hypothermia, then I could start a fire and warm you with magic in order to save your life without you being awake to bitch about it.”  He let out a humorless laugh.  “Freezing my bollocks off and defrosting an obstinate elfsicle while Hawke and Merrill pick up an elven dagger to fix a demon mirror… not quite how I pictured spending my Satinalia…”

Fenris eyebrow rose at that, “It is Satinalia?  I had not realized…” 

Anders shot him a bewildered glance.  “Hadn’t realized?  It’s all my patients in the clinic can talk about.  Haven’t you noticed the frosted windows in Hightown and sudden influx of toys and masks in the market?”  Fenris answered him with a blank stare.  “The fruit cakes and candied nuts?”  Emerald eyes blinked.  “Satinalia Chants like ‘By Satina’s Light’ and ‘The Littlest Mabari’ floating on the bloody breeze?!”

“The littlest… what are you on about mage?!” 

“The children’s song!  You know, the runt of the litter gets picked on by all the other dogs, but when the Maker needed a strong mabari to drive off a bear coming after the newborn Andraste, the littlest mabari was the only one brave enough to do it and ended up saving Satinalia?”  Every word the mage spoke served to further convince Fenris that the man had finally lost his mind.  Anders huffed indignantly.  “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard it?!”

“As I do not remember being a child then it stands to reason I would not know any silly children’s songs.  Slaves have little to sing about as it is.”  Fenris scoffed.  “Further more, there were few mabari in Tevinter, and I imagine the Black Divine would just as soon see the bear in your story eat Andraste and save them the trouble of burning her at the stake.”

Anders gave him a grim smirk.  “Ah, touché.  Well then what were Satinalias like in Tevinter?  Surely you had them?”

“The Magisters had them, true enough.”  The elf sneered and clenched his fist.  “Lavish balls and sumptuous feasts, all at the expense of slave labor.  Or did you think faeries cooked their delicacies or shined the marble floors for their masquerades?!”

The mage furrowed his eyebrows.  “Surely there must have been some way the slaves celebrated as well?  The people in Darktown save up all year to buy their children a small toy or their neighbor a warm blanket.  Even though they burn down at least half a dozen shacks every blighted year, you’ll see nearly every family with a Satinalia lantern hanging up.”

Fenris scoffed.  “Pathetic fools, to waste their time and precious resources on a single day of frivolity.”

“No, it’s days like Satinalia that give them hope, keeps them sane!”  Anders exclaimed, his hands gesturing animatedly, “Don’t you see Fenris?  More than parades and masks or lanterns and presents… Satinalia is… it’s about _faith_.”

“Faith?”  Fenris quirked a dark eyebrow.  “You never struck me as the Chantry type.  Has Sebastian finally gotten to you?”

“Hardly,” Anders replied with a scowl, “Though I could probably sing as much of the Chant as our Choir Boy could thanks to the Circle’s illustrious teachings.  I don’t mean faith in the Maker.  Satinalia is older than Him, older than the bloody Old Gods.  It’s about faith that Satina’s longest night will end and the sun will rise again, that flowers will bloom and crops will grow and life will begin anew.  That’s why we have garish parades in the street and silly songs about scrappy mabari with hearts of gold.  It’s about everyone from the highest Lord to the lowest beggar joining together to chase away the cold and dark for one more year.”

Fenris stared into the empty fire pit contemplatively.  “I had not realized this day meant so much to you…”

The mage gave him a crooked grin.  “I just like the idea is all, I don’t have a lot of warm and fuzzy childhood memories.  Unless you count my father claiming that the Sloth demon that left naughty children coal and switches had visited me once again, or the Chantry Sisters at Kinloch Hold telling us in no uncertain terms that the Satinalia Spirit wasn’t real.”  He sighed, a hint of sadness flickering through his eyes as he looked up to Satina as she made her voyage across the heavens.  “I suppose I just like the idea of a day when people put aside their differences and look toward a common goal.  We all just want the sun to come up… for the world to keep on turning.”

 _Put aside our differences_ … There was something alluring in that simple wish.  To have something so basic that it could not be argued.  The desire to live, to be free, to see the new day dawn… “Mage,” Fenris sighed heavily and gestured to the damp pile of logs between them, “Go ahead, chase away the cold and dark on your bloody Satinalia.”

“Oh thank Andraste’s Ample Bosom!”  The mage whooped joyfully as he ignited the fire with a wave of his hands.  Fenris shivered as his brands tingled and glowed faintly for a brief moment before the flames settled and began crackling merrily.  In a split second the mage was huddled as close as safely possible to the fire, gleefully rubbing his hands together and sighing in bliss.

Fenris smirked, “Who’s the fragile flower now mage?”

Anders surprised him by replacing his usual biting retort with briefly sticking his tongue out in a rather childish expression, before once more closing his eyes and sighing with a relaxed smile.

The elf leaned forward as well and sighed contentedly as heat seeped back into his fingers and toes.   A rare calm fell upon the two men, a comfort in one another’s presence that Fenris was loathe to admit he was enjoying.  Anders had shared something with him, something important about his views and his past… something Fenris didn’t outright disagree with.  It wasn’t much in the face of everything built up between them, but it was a peek into who the man was other than ‘mage’ or ‘abomination’.  Fenris had a sense that now it was his turn, his choice to either repair the crack in the wall and build it up stronger, or to chip away another piece himself.  The elf sighed.  _I suppose it is Satinalia after all_.

“Fruit.”

Anders’ eyebrows rose incredulously.  “I beg your pardon?!”  Whether his reddened cheeks were a result of Fenris’ statement or the newfound heat source was really anyone’s guess.

“You asked if the slaves celebrated.”  Fenris replied softly as he stared into the fire.  “They would often give one another pieces of fruit.  It was something sweet that slaves were rarely given, so it was a treat.  A slave would usually have to save for a year or more just to afford an apple or orange to give away.”

Anders’ smiled warmly, “That actually sounds rather nice.  I hope-“ his words faltered as he looked down at the fire and tucked a flyaway lock of hair behind his ear, the attempt at nonchalance doing nothing to hide the rising color on his cheeks, “I hope you had someone special to give an apple or orange to, you deserve that,” he coughed awkwardly, “That is, _everyone_ deserves that.”

A memory from long ago… he wasn't sure how old he’d been, but feeling so very _young_ … bandages itching and new brands throbbing… his foot scuffing nervously in the dust, hand outstretched, offering the shiniest red apple he could find to the stable boy that had smiled at him from across the courtyard after they brought him back from that terrible ritual… the first kind face he could recall through the haze of agony and never-ending pulse of lyrium…  formerly kind sky blue eyes now filled with disgust, rejection, fear… ‘Heard what you did to get those marks’ ‘Kinslayer’ ‘Monster’ ‘Freak’… Danarius had seen it all, seen his little wolf’s eyes fill with tears as the apple was knocked to the filthy ground, not even fit for the horses the slave tended.  His Master had placed a sword in his hand… a gift he had said… a curse…

“I was… discouraged from consorting with the other slaves.”  Fenris replied defensively.  “Danarius gifted me with a new sword each year for Satinalia, likely worth over a hundred apples.”  Never mind that all he had wanted was an apple, a smile, a kind word not tainted by the bitter poison of Danarius’ influence.

“Hm.”  Anders hummed ambiguously, a small thoughtful frown marring his features.  Fenris’ gut tightened at the mage’s silence.  Was he angry, did he pity him, or was he merely apathetic?!  Without a direction in which to lash out, Fenris was left exposed, his old wounds raw and bleeding while the mage just sat there- “Fenris,” Honey brown eyes met his and Fenris held his breath, “I- Happy Satinalia.”  He said quietly, his smile soft and kind.

It was such a simple thing, it seemed almost anticlimactic.  Fenris wanted to be furious at his seemingly glib response, but his eyes, his voice, his hesitant but sincere smile spoke to how much he had meant it. 

Fenris’ first instinct was to use sharp words and hateful glares to drive him away, to cut him deep and keep him from getting close enough to see how lonely he was, how much the mage’s simple felicitation had touched him.  Fenris unclenched his fists and breathed deep.  _No, I do not need another sword this year._   “Mage,” Fenris murmured, “I believe Kirkwall will be feeling your absence tonight.”

Anders’ eyebrow rose suspiciously.  “Why?”

Fenris’ lips quirked up ever so slightly, “Without you there, who are they going to crown Town Fool?”

Surprise, annoyance and confusion warred in the mage’s expression, causing Fenris’ barely there grin to widen.  A smile finally won out on the mage’s handsome features as he caught on to the elf’s rare teasing.  Anders threw his head back and laughed, and Fenris felt a surge of warmth within him, deeper than the fire before him could ever hope to reach.


	2. First Day

**1 Wintermarch 9:34 Dragon**

 

Fenris breathed deep and slid a bare foot forward as he exhaled, drawing the sword from his back in a graceful arc to point straight along his line of sight.  His mind was blessedly clear, focused in a way that was getting harder to achieve of late.  For the past two months Fenris’ waking thoughts had been jumbled with tales of Circle towers, daring escapes and a kitten that fought Darkspawn beside a mage that Fenris found he didn't dislike quite as much as he let on.  The elf closed his eyes and swept the blade down and to the right, his body following in a fluid motion.  As for his dreams, they were haunted by golden eyes, soft lips and nimble fingers sparking with lightning in a way that both frightened and excited his subconscious mind, his body often awaking with a pounding heart and throbbing need.  He gripped the hilt tighter as he smoothly brought the sword up into a lunge.  A lunge Fenris had once fancied a certain feathered mage on the receiving end of, now sharpened and honed to fight beside him… to protect him.

Fenris’ perfect form faltered as someone began knocking on his door, the sharp staccato echoing and amplifying in the cavernous entry hall the warrior used for his morning exercises.  He grit his teeth and straightened the tip of his sword before gliding effortlessly into the next form in the set, assuming that whoever had come would soon go away.  Hawke would have just come in, and he had no desire to see anyone else.  Honey brown eyes and a soft kind smile flickered enticingly in his mind’s eye as if to prove him wrong.  The blighted knocking continued.  “Venhedis!”  The sword clattered to the ground with a frustrated shout and flash of lyrium.  Fenris clenched his fists and marched to confront his uninvited guest.

The elf whipped the door open and snapped, “You have five seconds to explain yourself before I tear your heart from your- mage?”  Fenris eyebrows furrowed to see the very pair of golden eyes that had haunted his dreams blinking back at him, his fist still raised mid-knock.

“Fenris!  I- good morning?”  The mage seemed nearly as confused as Fenris felt, greeting him as though he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there.

The elf crossed his arms and quirked a wary eyebrow.  “Three seconds mage.”

“Oh!  Ah- Happy First Day!”  Anders blurted out, his hand flying to his pocket to hastily pull out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine and shove it gracelessly toward the elf.  “And happy belated Satinalia.”

Of all the reasons Fenris could have imagined for the mage to show up at his door, this had not been one of them.  He reached forward tentatively to grasp the package and untie the string, too surprised to do much else.  The paper unfurled to reveal a single shiny red apple.  Fenris blinked.

“I didn’t really have anything to give you up on Sundermount, and well, I heard you tell Sebastian you liked apples, so I thought…”

Fenris fought to retain a calm facade while his heart raged in turmoil.  For as long as he could remember, he had always held the foolish hope that someday he would receive a simple apple from someone who saw him as more than a tool to be used or a monster to be feared, someone who cared for him.  Now finally he held one in his hand, a gift from the mage who hated him.  Why?!  Why did it have to be from him?!  After spending years smothering that bothersome ember of sentimentality, the mage had effortlessly coaxed it back to life by taking advantage of the measure of trust Fenris had foolishly shown him!

“You thought what?!”  Fenris snapped, gripping the apple tight enough to bruise the firm fruit, “You thought you’d play the Magister and give the poor slave a piece of fruit?  Make a mockery of me yet again?!”

“Play the Magist- I- _what_?!”  The mage stammered indignantly.  “I _thought_ I’d give you a gift you ungrateful bastard!”  Anders shouted right back, color rising to his cheeks as his golden eyes filled with fire.  “Maybe I think your Master was a monster for giving you something to serve him and calling it a gift!   Maybe I think the slaves had it right, that even the smallest gift sincerely meant can show you care more than a hundred of the finest blighted swords!”

Fenris’ eyes widened before he scoffed and looked away.  “Do not lie to me and say you care, we are not friends mage.”  He muttered, a small piece of his heart longing for the mage to argue, as he so often did with seemingly everything else he had to say.

“No, I suppose we’re not friends,” Anders said coldly, and that fool piece of Fenris’ heart began to harden like the rest… “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.  Fenris- damn it look at me!”  The mage took a deep breath and grabbed the elf’s chin, jerking his face up until their eyes met.  Fenris froze, his heart hammering in his chest as Anders studied him, seeming to weigh his words carefully before continuing, “You- you’re a right prickly bastard Fenris, but I- I’d notice if you weren’t around.”  The mage finished softly, a sadness overtaking his eyes as he released Fenris’ chin with a fleeting caress down a line of lyrium.  The mage turned his back and tugged his coat tighter around his frame.  “Nevermind, it was a stupid idea.  Just forget I came here.”  He said briskly as he trotted down the steps.

Fenris’ racing heart kicked the rest of his body into overdrive, and before he realized it he was down the stairs and reaching for the mage’s arm.  “Wait- Mage!”

Anders rounded on him and shrugged the elf’s hand away.  “Why don’t you say it louder, I’m not sure every Templar heard you!”  He hissed.

Fenris’ eyes narrowed.  “Then come inside instead of making a scene in the middle of Hightown!”  Before Anders had a chance to argue, Fenris took him by the elbow and hauled him back up the steps to shove him through the door, slamming and locking it behind him.

The mage stood gaping for a moment like a fish out of water before finally throwing his arms up in frustration.  “First you throw a fit and call me a Magister, _again_ I might add, because I gave you a blighted apple!  And now you want me to come in and what, join you for tea!?  Maker Fenris I can’t figure you out!”

“You think you are any easier to understand mage?!”  Fenris paced in front of the door like a caged beast, pent up frustrations both old and new coiling in his gut and waiting to be unleashed in a flurry of passion or pain.  Which would win out, even Fenris wasn’t certain.  “You mock and tease me, bate me constantly and refuse to listen to anything I have to say, then you show up at my door with a blighted apple and tell me how much you care!  Vishante kaffas mage!  You _hate_ me!  Of course the first Satinalia gift I receive from someone other than my former Master would have to be from you, another joke, another bloody _tease_!”

“Fenris… is that what you think?”  Anders looked stricken when Fenris ceased his pacing long enough to meet his gaze defiantly and nod.  The mage sighed and seemed to sag as all the fight drained out of him.  “Fenris, I don’t hate you, I never did.  I just want you to _listen_ to me, to see me as more than just another evil mage.  To see that I’m a man just like you that wants the same things you do.”  He absently rubbed the back of his neck.  “Maker you’d think two people who just want freedom wouldn’t need to fight so damn much about it.”

Fenris looked away from Anders’ sad eyes and stared at the apple still shining in his hand.  They wanted the same things, they always had… freedom, a smile, a kind word… “I- I do not hate you either mage.”  Fenris breathed, “I hear what you have to say, and I understand your desire for freedom… but it… it frightens me.  Can you not understand why?”

“I can, I _do_.  If I’m honest, it sometimes scares me too.  I don’t want another Tevinter any more than you do Fenris.  I hate slavery, you know that right?”  Fenris nodded almost in-perceivably, and Anders continued softly, “But what we have now isn’t working either.  Is taking away my freedom the only answer to ensure yours?”

Fenris slowly raised his head to meet Anders’ gaze and answered honestly, “I do not know.”

“Neither do I, but I’ve got to try and find a better way that lets us both be free.  Can you understand that?  Can you respect that, even if you won’t help me?”

Emerald eyes studied determined golden ones for a long while, a silent conversation continuing between them after all their words had been used up.  Fenris finally brought the apple to his lips and took a bite before turning on his heal and heading toward the kitchens.

“Fenris!?”  Anders indignantly shouted, “Silly me, but I thought we were in the middle of a serious discussion!  Where are you going?!”

“To make tea.”  The elf said simply.  He turned his head to glance at the flustered mage, “Are you coming?”

Fenris turned and walked on, hiding his small smile from view as Anders grinned and trailed after him.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you.  You’re sure I’m not intruding?”  Anders muttered with a grateful nod as he accepted the cup the elf handed him.  He took a sip and predictably cursed softly as it burnt his tongue.

“I am not sure of that at all, but you are here now, so you might as well enjoy it.” 

Anders was learning to read the dry humor in the elf’s voice quicker every time they spoke it seemed.  “Bastard.”  The mage replied with no real malice, a grin playing at his lips, and was rewarded with a smirk from the elf in return.  Anders smiled in earnest. 

Fenris coughed nervously and looked away from that bright smile, unable to believe he had put it there.  “So, what is this First Day that you are on about mage?”

“You know, First Day, the start of the new year!  Or does Tevinter not have new years?  Just the same terrible one again and again?”  Anders asked with a playful smirk.

Fenris rolled his eyes and took a drink of tea.  “Of course they have a new year, it is simply not a prominent holiday.  Danarius never bothered to observe it, so I am not familiar with its customs.  I believe Minrathous had fireworks and various brazen displays of magic, and the Archon would give a speech about how glorious Tevinter was in the previous year, and how glorious they would prove to be in the coming one.”

“Replace magic and the Archon with food and copious drinking and you’ve pretty much got the Ferelden celebration covered.”  The mage looked down and absently fiddled with his teacup with a fond smile, “Though in the Anderfels we were rather big on First Day.  We’d all trek across the frozen blight stricken wasteland to visit Oma and Opa and make sure they hadn’t died since we last saw them.”

“Charming.”

The mage laughed, “Yes well, the Anderfels is a charming place.  It was nice though, to see family and share a meal.”

The elf smirked, “So is that why you came, to make sure I hadn’t died?”

“Well with all the moldering corpses and deadly spiders building palaces in here, I figure it’s only a matter of time.”

“They are guard spiders.”  The elf deadpanned.

“Didn’t keep me out.”  Anders replied with an eyebrow raised in challenge.

A bark of laughter escaped Fenris’ throat.  “I will have to redouble their training then.”

Anders grinned, “I’ll bet you have a robed scarecrow in a spare room don’t you?  With a great stick propped beside it for a staff, and you stand there pointing saying ‘mage evil’ ‘attack on sight’!”

“More or less.”  His ears warmed despite himself as he met the mage’s amber gaze and shared a secretive smile with him, “Though now I shall have to amend the training to give free passage to mages bearing apples.”

Anders chuckled warmly and leaned in closer across the small table they shared.  “Wintersend is just around the corner after all.”


	3. Wintersend

**1 Guardian 9:34 Dragon**

 

“Happy Wintersend!  I’ve got more drinks, so who’s got my kiss?”

Fenris groaned and rolled his eyes at Isabela’s antics, which were shameless even for her.  He supposed it shouldn’t be so surprising that any holiday that involved strange Ferelden spring fertility rites would find the flirtatious pirate in her element.  The rogue was currently eying him seductively and waving a bottle of wine at the arbor blessing vine strung above Varric’s doorway. 

“Shove off” Fenris grumbled. 

Luckily for him, or perhaps for Isabela, an already tipsy Merrill teetered over and wrapped her arms around the brunette, in what Fenris suspected was mostly an attempt to keep her balance, and planted a kiss on the pirate’s cheek.  Isabela grinned and somehow managed to shift her alcoholic burden enough to give the witch’s ass a playful pinch before sauntering the rest of the way into Varric's quarters.  “Thank you Kitten!”  She said as she handed Fenris his bottle of red, “At least _some_ of us have Wintersend spirit!” 

Fenris answered her with a glare as he snatched the bottle from her grasp.

“Oh, is there a Holiday today?”  Merrill asked innocently.

“And that’s why we love you Daisy.”  Varric said with a grin.

Fenris couldn’t help but scoff.  “Speak for yourself.”

“Awww, did Fenris not get his Wintersend kiss when he came in?”  Isabela asked with a pout.

Varric laughed, “He was the first one here.  I like you Broody, but not that much, sorry.”

“The feeling is mutual dwarf.”  Fenris replied, having never been more thankful to have been early to Wicked Grace in his entire life.

“Or maybe you’re just impatient?  Waiting with baited breath to catch a certain apostate under the arbor blessing perhaps?”  Isabela purred, leaning into his space with a wicked smirk.

Fenris’ eyes widened as he felt his ears heating.  “I do not know what you’re talking about.”  He snapped, putting on his fiercest scowl, placing all his hopes on being able to play off his increasing blush as a flush of anger.

Merrill leaned over and whispered oh so helpfully, “I think she’s talking about _Anders_.”  Fenris clenched his fists.

“You and Blondie have been rather chummy lately…” Varric muttered over his ale tankard with a raised eyebrow.

“Who’s still talking about Anders when _I’m_ the one standing under the arbor blessing?!”

“Hawke!”  The room’s two female occupants exclaimed before jumping to their feet to sashay and stagger respectively into the warrior's open arms and shower him with kisses. 

“Happy Wintersend everyone!”  Hawke beamed as he led the ladies to sit on either side of him around the table.

Fenris took advantage of the fortuitous distraction to begin drinking… heavily.  With Isabela in such fine form and Varric already making insinuations, he had a feeling he would need the fortification.  Especially when said insinuations fell dangerously close to the mark. 

It had been three months since that Satinalia night up on the mountain when things had shifted between them, since the mage had stopped being ‘abomination’ and started to become ‘Anders’ in his thoughts.  It had been a month since the mage had shown up at his door with an apple in his pocket and a fierce determination to meet him halfway, whether the elf had liked it or not. 

One cup of tea sweetened by honey brown eyes later, and suddenly Fenris found himself sneaking glances and sharing private jokes with the mage.  A month of fireside conversations, secretive smirks, and the occasional fleeting caress across his fingertips as they walked behind Hawke, there and gone so quickly Fenris would have been sure he had imagined it, if not for the racing of his heart and the heat on the mage’s cheeks.  Now another holiday was upon them, this one with a tradition equal parts terrifying and enticing in the form of an unassuming vine hanging above the doorway, promising a kiss to any who stood under it.  Fenris took a hearty pull straight from the bottle. 

As the evening wore on Aveline managed to charge unscathed through the Wintersend barricade Isabela and Hawke had set up, though Sebastian was not as lucky.  Fenris had chuckled along with his friends as their bearded leader beat the buxom pirate to the door and kissed the Chantry brother full on the lips, despite his protesting their sinful behavior on “The Maker’s Day”.  All the while Fenris’ stomach had tied itself in so many knots he was surprised the wine still had a place to go.  The mage was always the last one there, if he even came at all, as he was sometimes held up by patients at the clinic or Justice and his bloody manifesto.  Fenris honestly wasn’t sure if he would be relieved or disappointed if his feathered frame never crossed the festive threshold-

“Sorry I’m late!”  Anders said with a tired smile as he shuffled up to lean heavily against the door frame.  The mage’s golden gaze fell on Fenris and his smile softened.  “Happy Wintersend.”

Fenris froze as all eyes seemed to turn on him.  The elf had spent all bloody night anxiously awaiting this moment, and now that it had arrived he realized he hadn’t the first idea what to do.  Isabela made it look so easy, displaying her affection freely for all to see.  Fenris on the other hand had yet to even tell Anders… he wasn’t even sure _what_ to tell him!  That somewhere along the way he began looking forward to his smile, his company, even his blighted arguments rather than dreading them?  That sometimes in the dead of night, when the cold and dark closed in around him and the loneliness stung too keenly, he imagined what it would be like to kiss him… touch him?  That on once such night he had closed his eyes and touched himself, imagined it to be the mage’s hands instead, even if Fenris’ hands could never hope to be as warm?  That he had spilled himself on the cold sheets with Anders’ name on his lips?

How was he to tell the mage all of that and more with only a kiss, in front of a room of onlookers ready to laugh just as he had done to Sebastian?  This was to be not only his first time kissing Anders, it would be his first time experiencing the sensation of another’s lips on his, the elf’s limited experience with physical intimacy in Tevinter leaving no room for such tender kindnesses.  One did not kiss a tool for serving its purpose.  

As much as time seemed to freeze when Anders’ eyes met his, the clock stopping along with Fenris’ heart, when it stuttered back to life and blood raced to flush his face all the way to the tips of his ears, the world sped to catch up.  Fenris tensed, his fingers curling around the table’s edge, when several things happened at once.  Anders sighed softly and looked away, Isabela strode across the room with a muttered ‘Hopeless, the bloody both of you…’, and Fenris shot from his seat just as Isabela reached up and pulled the mage into a kiss. 

Anders’ eyes widened and met Fenris’ over the pirate’s dark brown curls as the elf’s metal gauntlets bit sharply into his palms.  Palms that should have been running along the mage’s stubbled jaw and through soft red-gold hair, now turned to fists he no longer trusted himself not to shove through the wench’s chest if he didn’t leave _now_.  Fenris scowled and looked away from the spectacle in front of him as he shoved the pair aside and stormed through the Hanged Man and into the streets, slipping into the night to nurse the ache blooming in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Fenris paced the worn floorboards in front of the fire place he hadn’t bothered to light.  His brands illuminated the room in erratic pulses instead, casting an eerie blue glow over the ruined landscape of his bedroom and painting twisted shadows on the torn and faded wallpaper.  He had once been content with his existence, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to call it a life.  He had been proud of how far he had come, how much he had accomplished for himself.  Now when he looked around all he saw was dank cold darkness that had once been his ally, suddenly turned against him, chilling him to the core with a crushing loneliness he had never realized was there until… until the mage had shown him what it was to feel warm again. 

Fenris realized, with a sudden terrible clarity, that for a split second he had wanted to kill Isabela as she kissed the mage.  _His_ mage, his traitorous heart had whispered in that horrible crystalline moment, a tableau forever burned into his mind of her filthy lips sullying a moment, a mage, that was to be _his_.  Even now he could not banish it from his thoughts. 

Thank the Maker he had not acted.  He had been a heartbeat away from ending the life of a comrade, a friend, and for what?  A silly holiday tradition?!  Punishing Isabela for flirting was akin to punishing a bird for flying, it was simply in her nature.  No, the fault did not lie with the rogue… it was the mage’s doing.

The elf snatched an open bottle from a nearby end table and took a swig, grimacing at the bitter vinegary tang of wine gone stale before smashing the bottle against the wall.  What had he been thinking, flirting and pining after a _mage_?! 

Fenris had endured unspeakable humiliation and torment under the thumb of a Magister, and he had done things he was not proud of in order to escape.  He had fought like a savage beast and painted entire taverns and alleyways with the blood of slavers and bounty hunters.  He had stolen and lied when necessary, and had lived no better than a filthy mongrel at times, eating rats and sleeping in the gutter.  At times Fenris imagined that the Void itself would have been a picnic in comparison, yet he knew that he would do it again a hundred fold if it meant he could be free from the tyranny of mages.

Then along came Anders.  He was nothing like the Magisters Fenris had ever seen.  The mage gave more of himself than he could often afford to spare, healing the sick until exhaustion and going without food so that others would not go wanting.  He was a mage who lived in squalor instead of using his considerable power to better his situation.  A mage who wore a silly feathered garment that seemed more patches than actual coat and wished for nothing more in life than a blighted kitten he would undoubtedly call Serah Fluffybottom or something equally ludicrous. 

Anders’ behavior was so unlike what the elf knew of mages that Fenris had let his guard down.  He began to ignore the flashes of fire and lightning coming from his staff and saw instead a capable Grey Warden ally willing to lay down his life in defense of his ideals and those he cared for.  The elf looked past the ethereal glow coming from his hands as he worked in his clinic or healed them after a battle, and instead saw the concern and compassion Anders doled out freely, asking nothing in return.  Fenris had forced himself to listen past his initial revulsion as the mage preached his agenda, and had begun to hear a man very much like himself in both his lingering hatred toward his oppressors and his burning desire to live as he chose.

The mage's power was more dangerous than any Magister Fenris had yet encountered.  He had not needed potions or spells or even blood magic to enchant him, merely a warm smile and striking amber eyes.  A kind word.  A blighted apple. 

Fenris had not been able to keep himself from the clever mage who played the fool to lure him in.  Now like a moth to flame, Fenris had been drawn to the warmth Anders promised with his smiling eyes and fleeting touches, searing into his very soul and consuming him from within.  He had been willing to kill for the mage tonight, would have been willing to die for him, the fire so out of control that Fenris feared there would be nothing left of him but an empty shell.  A soulless burnt out husk chained to a mage once more, seeking only his happiness, his approval, so that he might be graced with just one more glimmer of the sunshine inside his golden eyes.  A pathetic thrall, a pet, a _slave_.

Fenris would have to snuff the fire out.

“Fenris…” the elf stiffened his back and clenched his fists as Anders breathed his name from the doorway behind him, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so I-“ his voice hitched slightly, “I braved the spiders-“

“Get out.” 

“Fenris please-“ Anders’ hand felt like fire as it landed on his shoulder.  Fenris’ brands illuminated the darkened room as he turned to fist the mage’s coat and shove him against the wall with a feral roar borne of fury and pain.

“Do not touch me abomination!”  Fenris’ voice broke on the slur he had privately vowed to never use again, “Do not come to me with your smiles and your laughter and your blighted eyes, looking at me as though you think I am more than I am!  I am nothing to you and you are less than nothing to me mage!”

Anders stood limp in his grasp, his head hung low as he answered softly, “I may be less than nothing to you,” he raised his head, and Fenris’ breath caught in his throat at the anger he found burning in his eyes, “But you don’t get to tell me what you are to me!  To me you are-“

Fenris slammed the mage hard against the wall.  “No!  I will hear no more of your lies!  I saw the truth well enough when you let her touch you!  Let her kiss you!”

“It was Isabela on bloody Wintersend, what did you expect?!  And if you hadn’t noticed you daft bastard, I was looking to _you_!  I had finally given up standing in the doorway like a pathetic fool and was about to sit down, next to _you_ I might add, when _she_ kissed _me_!”  The anger in his gaze fractured to show a glimpse of hurt simmering beneath the surface, “Why wasn’t it you?  I thought- you and I-“

“You thought what?!  That I would play the bloody prince and sweep you into my arms?!  That I would profess some sentiment for you I will _never_ possess?!  I will not have my actions and feelings decided for me ever again!  Not by some blighted Ferelden kissing vine, not by my so called friends, and certainly not by a _mage_!”

“Well there’s no arbor blessing here, and you’ve said yourself that I’m not your friend.  I’m just another _mage…_ at your mercy,” Anders raised his hands to tangle in Fenris’ hair and pull himself closer, pressing their foreheads together.  Fenris tightened his grip and forgot to breathe as the mage whispered against his lips, “So either kiss me or kill me Fenris, just make up your bloody mind.”  Honey brown eyes slid shut as he closed his eyes and waited.

Fenris took a shuttering breath, Anders’ scent flooding his senses with the warmth of fresh linens drying in the sun and the tingling of gathering lightning both beautiful and destructive.  His brands flared bright as his gauntlets tightened and punctured the mage’s threadbare coat.  He could snuff out this dangerous flame Anders had ignited once and for all right now, _should_ snuff it out, so as to never be burnt again… so as to never be warm again. 

Fenris was so tired of being cold.

All it took was a slight tug on the mage’s coat to bring their lips together.  Anders reacted immediately and passionately, tilting his head and slotting their mouths together perfectly, his fingers tightening in Fenris’ hair as a deep rumble of pleasure escaped his throat.  Fenris groaned at the primal sound, and Anders took the opportunity to dart his tongue along the elf’s bottom lip in tantalizing invitation.  Always teasing, always asking, never taking… it was too much… it was not enough.

Fenris released his grip on the mage’s coat and grasped his hips instead, grinding their bodies together as he took Anders up on his invitation and chased his tongue back into the hot cavern of his mouth.  It felt as though Fenris’ entire body was on fire, alight with sensation as the wet heat of the mage’s tongue caressed his own.  He hardly knew what he was doing, all clacking teeth and stilted movements, but Anders didn’t seem to mind as he moaned enthusiastically into Fenris’ inexperienced kisses.  Feeling emboldened and lightheaded from the sinful noises coming from Anders’ kiss swollen lips, noises _his_ actions had caused, Fenris growled possessively and ground his hips against the mage’s.  Anders pressed a hand to the small of the elf’s back to pull them closer and answered with a roll of his own hips.  The mage was as hard as he was, met his thrusting with the same frantic desperation, needy whimpers and gasps rolling off tongues as they danced and battled for dominance, neither knowing who each sound was coming from as they were swallowed up greedily. 

Anders pulled away to suck in a panting breath and whisper Fenris’ name.  Fenris fumbled with the fastenings of his gauntlets, the movement of his hips never stilling as the metal crashed to the ground and his naked seeking fingertips found the laces of Anders’ trousers.  “Mine.”  He growled into Anders’ neck before nipping and sucking a bruise into the skin he found there, his arousal spiking at the thought of leaving his mark on the mage.

“Yes, Fenris, oh fuck-“ the mage moaned as his long nimble fingers found their way past Fenris’ laces to encircle his throbbing length.

Fenris gripped Anders’ heated member and freed him from the confines of his trousers to stroke him quick and rough.  Their lips crashed together as Anders followed suit, his palm running over the glistening head of the elf’s cock and slicking the shaft with pre-cum.  Fenris bit the mage’s lip as a guttural moan escaped him. 

Their hands blurred between them in a frenzied rhythm, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter as they raced toward release.  This conflagration of passion and frustration between them had been a long time coming, and neither would last long now that the flint had been struck.  Anders’ grip faltered first as his whole body shuddered, gasping the elf’s name as he came, his hot seed painting his own shaking hand that had stilled on Fenris’ prick.  The elf made a strangled whimper and bucked his hips into the mage’s lax grip, so close to the edge it bordered on painful.

Fenris’ heart stopped when the mage crumpled to his knees and took him into his heated mouth.  He moaned deep in his throat and gripped Anders’ hair as he watched kiss swollen lips wrap around him and take him to the hilt.  The head of his cock brushed against the back of the mage's throat, tight wet heat engulfing and overwhelming him.  Anders swallowed, and Fenris’ world exploded.

He fell to his knees after spending himself inside the mage’s mouth.  Fenris allowed the warm hands Anders stroked down his back as they caught their breath.  The elf breathed deep at the juncture of the mage’s neck and shoulder, his distinctive scent spiced with sweat and sex both calming and enflaming him.  He felt Anders murmuring nothings into his neck and peppering the heated skin with soft kisses, his nose nuzzling against him affectionately.  Fenris’ heart stopped as he realized he was nearly doing the same.  It was so tempting to give in to his near all-consuming desire to return that affection, to kiss and touch him and tell him how much he was wanted, was lov-

Primal fear gripped Fenris as he tore himself up to stand and turn away, putting much needed distance between them.  “Do not ask more of me than I can give.”  Fenris said in a voice far steadier than his shaking hands betrayed as he tucked himself away.  “This is all it will ever be between us mage.  Mutual pleasure, but nothing more.  Is that understood?”

“I- yes.  Yes I understand.”  Anders whispered, sounding broken and defeated, like a man used to having to be satisfied with whatever he could get rather than what he wanted. 

Fenris clenched his fists and forced himself not to turn around.  The feelings the mage inspired in him were too much.  Too heady, too strong, too powerful… too dangerous.  It had been a mistake to go as far as they had tonight, but what was done was done, and why shouldn't he want to again?  It had felt good, so _good_ to be touched and desired, to find release from a hand that was not his own.  It did not have to mean anything more.  He could not give another mage that much power over him ever again, he _would_ not.

“I trust you can see yourself out.”  Fenris murmured before stalking down the hall and into the safety of the shadows.  He watched the mage put himself in order and make his way down the stairs and out into the night, taking the warmth of his touch and the brightness of his smile with him.


	4. 9:34 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “For earth... sky. For winter... summer. For darkness... light.” ―Thedosian seasonal invocation

The spring brings fever.  Fevered kisses that leave them dizzy and short of breath.  Seeking hands shifting away clothing and sliding against oversensitive skin.  Quick rough desperate rutting in darkened alleys or empty warehouses.  Frantic scrambles for the firewood they had been sent to gather after racing to bring each other off just outside of camp.  Moans muffled as they sneak into one another’s tents in the dead of night.  Never removing more than needed to reach their throbbing needs with hands and mouths.  Never lingering longer than needed to tuck themselves away and slink off into the darkness, as though it had never happened. 

They do not talk as much, do not share secret smiles and fleeting touches.  There is no time to waste when it could be spent on much more pleasurable pursuits. 

 

* * *

 

The summer brings heat, oppressive and all consuming.  It's too hot to keep so many layers on during their liaisons, or so they tell themselves as they move to Fenris’ bed.  So much heated skin to touch and taste.  Tight heat like Fenris has never known as he takes Anders for the first time, takes _anyone_ for the first time.  Why bother with kissing and foreplay when they both know what they want?  The mage’s sweat slicked brow pressed to the mattress and Fenris’ chest pressed tight against his back, hot skin slapping as he fucks him fast and hard.  Fenris comes inside him, flooding him with fire.

The heat of anger, of bubbling resentment simmers in Anders’ eyes each time Fenris turns away and bids him leave once they’ve found release.  It's too hot to linger in the tangled sheets together.

Or so Fenris tells himself as he turns back to the empty spot the mage had been and feels the lingering warmth fade.

 

* * *

 

The fall brings a chill to the air.  Anders claims he is busy with the mage underground, his manifesto, his clinic.  Their fucking begins to taper off, and eventually stops altogether.  The mage is losing weight, the light of his smile dimming day by day.  Perhaps it had been dimming for some time, if Fenris had only bothered to notice. 

The chill in the air brings a rasping to the mage’s chest that Fenris’ doesn’t like in the least.  Fenris brings him blankets, which he gives to his ill patients.  Brings him food, which he gives to the needy. 

Fenris brings the mage home.  He sits Anders in a chair by the fire and stands there staring expectantly as the mage finishes a bowl of soup and a piece of bread.  The mage argues and glares through the whole meal, and something about that is comforting.  Fenris suddenly realizes that once they started fucking, the arguing stopped, but so had the talking, the smiles, the laughter… everything. 

So Fenris argues with him.  Anders insists in-between bites of bread and slurps of soup why mages should be free, and Fenris obstinately disagrees with every point, just to keep him talking, keep him eating, keep him there warm and safe beside the fire.

Anders begins to write his manifesto at Fenris’ mansion to escape the chilled foul air of Darktown while he recovers.  Hawke has told Fenris to practice his reading, which is the only reason he nicks a page on occasion, or so he tells himself as he carefully writes notes in the margins.  ‘YOU ARE RONG’, ‘LIKE TEVINTER’…  ‘AGREED’.  Anders smiles when he sees the comments, and Fenris is pained to realize how much he has missed the sight.  Even as the color returns to the mage’s cheeks and the rattle in his chest fades, he returns to a spot beside the fireplace, _his_ spot, more often than not to continue his work in Fenris’ company. 

The mage begins to draw up curious little word puzzles for him in his spare time, to aid Fenris in his reading and writing, and perhaps save the margins of his manifesto, which the elf is still _very_ much encouraged to read.  Anders shows him a strangely morbid spelling game they played in the circle, wherein one must guess the correct letters in a word or phrase, with each incorrect guess resulting in another ray being added to the sunburst brand on a stick figure mage’s forehead.  Once the last line is drawn, a straight emotionless line for the mouth, the game is over and the mage is tranquil.  Fenris tries very hard not to lose, if only to avoid the haunted look Anders gets as he studies the finished stick figure and sees the ghosts of friends he could not save. 

There is also a difficult puzzle the mage had called a “crossword” that keeps Fenris busy for several nights, the clues challenging his reading, spelling and logic.  He cannot deny the pride he feels when he returns the completed puzzle.  There is no surprise in Anders’ expression, only a small pleased smile, as though the mage had never doubted Fenris would succeed, if only given the time and space to work it out.

One night Anders starts a word association game with him.  He simply passes over a paper with the word ‘Mage’ written on it and tells him to write the first word he thinks of.  Anders laughs when he receives the paper back with the word ‘FOOL’ written in careful upper case letters.  ‘Mage’, ‘FOOL’, ‘Blood mage’, ‘WITCH’, ‘Kitten’, ‘ANDERS’, ‘Handsome’, ‘FOOL (IT BEARS REPEETING)’, ‘Hawke’, ‘CHAMPEON’, ‘Arishok’, ‘QUNARI’, ‘Horny’, ‘DO NOT MAKE ME RITE IT AGAIN MAGE’, ‘Fine! Halla’, ‘DALISH’, ‘Elf’, ‘FENRIS’.  Anders’ breath catches as he holds the quill above the parchment for a long while.  He finally breathes deep and writes his answer, then slides the paper back, his golden eyes meeting Fenris’ emerald ones with a heartbreaking mixture of sadness and hope.  ‘Missed him’.

They kiss for the first time in months that night, and it’s like the first time, or perhaps what the first time should have been.  A tear runs down Anders’ cheek, and Fenris can no longer pretend he is not the cause, has not _been_ the cause for countless tears of Anders’ over the past months.  All that time, how had Fenris not seen?  Anders, always giving, often more than he can afford.  While Fenris was consumed with the fear of giving too much of himself to a _mage_ , the mage had given nearly all of himself to him, and he had squandered the gift.  Tossed it to the ground, just like his apple in the stables all those years ago.

Fenris has never been good with expressing his feelings aloud, needs time to puzzle out the clues and place the words into the correct slots, lest they come out a jumbled mess of frustration and embarrassment at his own inadequacy.  So he apologizes the only way he can just yet, with every kiss, every touch, every tender kindness he should have shown him since that blighted Wintersend.  They take their time undressing, exploring, caressing.  For the first time, Fenris looks into Anders’ eyes as he enters him, and suddenly it’s so much more than fucking.  He isn’t certain he’s ready, isn’t certain he’s capable of being the man Anders seems to see when he gives him that soft golden look.  As if the mage can sense his doubts, he threads their fingers together and won’t let him pull away to hide.  Anders whispers his name again and again, affirming who he wants, who he needs.  Fenris lets himself be held and whispers “Anders” as he finds release.

They part reluctantly each night after, hands lazily trailing down arms and fingers tangling together to prolong the contact before Anders slowly dresses and leaves with a kiss and a bittersweet smile. 

Fenris begins to wonder why he ever wanted him to go in the first place as he curls into the cold sheets in a bed that suddenly feels too large.


	5. Satinalia

**1 Firstfall 9:34 Dragon**

 

Snow rarely fell in Kirkwall, being so close to the sea, but it did not stop gusts of frigid salt air from whipping through the City of Chains and icing her windows and cobbled streets in a glittering film.  The chill only seemed to further encourage the revelers to take to the streets and fight back the encroaching winter with merriment and song.  Lanterns shown bright and masks glinted in a sea of color as seemingly every resident from Darktown to Hightown joined the procession of laughter and warmth as they chased away the cold and dark, bidding it follow Satina away as she made her crest and began her decent, making way for a new dawn.

Though… perhaps not _every_ resident chose to chase away their demons in quite so public a fashion. 

Soft firelight flickered in the hearth, reflecting in a pair of smiling emerald eyes.  “I am not sure you have earned this Satinalia present mage.”  Fenris quirked an eyebrow and shifted his hips where he straddled the mage, making Anders hiss as his cock rubbed tantalizingly against the elf’s ass, “Have you been good this year?”

Anders groaned as he eyed the strawberry Fenris dangled above him.  “Yes,” he stroked his lover’s sides and smirked, “I’ve been a very good apostate, said no to demons, used my magic to serve rather than rule etc. etc...” he trailed off and opened his mouth expectantly.

“I don’t know…” Fenris licked the tip of the berry and trailed it down the mage’s chest to circle a nipple, “This was rather hard to come by.  Strawberries are not in season after all.”

The mage shivered as the cool air hit the trail of moisture.  “I can see I was far too quick to give you your present.”  He very nearly whined as Fenris trailed the fruit further down his stomach.

“It is hardly my fault you have no standards for proper behavior.”  Fenris smirked as he glanced across the room at the remnants of the Orlesian golden apple Anders had given him that evening.

“Bastard!”  Anders laughed with a fondness that completely negated the harshness of the term.

“Now you must make a choice Anders,” Fenris leaned forward to whisper against his lover’s lips, “Would you like your present now, or would you rather wait and get a second present as well?”

A golden eyebrow rose.  “Hmmm, your offer is intriguing.  Do I get to know what this mystery present is?”

“You do not, but I imagine you will catch on rather quickly.”

“Mystery present!”  The mage said with a bright smile, as Fenris had known he would.

The elf grinned and shifted up the mage’s body until he straddled the man’s chest, presenting the head of his erect cock with a raised eyebrow.  “I believe you can guess what is expected of you mage?”

Even without the way Fenris began suggestively licking and sucking on the berry above him, Anders had a fairly good idea what the elf wanted.  He grinned and lapped at the head of his lover’s length, smirking at the way Fenris shivered above him.  Anders met his lover’s hooded emerald eyes, pupils blown wide with desire, and took the head of his cock into his mouth.

A moan slipped past Fenris’ throat as Anders’ lips and tongue circled and teased him.  The elf shifted to his knees, sending his length deeper into the mage’s mouth, which Anders accommodated with ease.  As he slowly began to rock his hips into his lover’s willing mouth, he grasped one of the mage’s hands that rested on his hips and brought it to his entrance.  “If you would oblige?”  Fenris breathed, his eyes never leaving Anders’ amber gaze. 

Anders froze, his eyes widening as his eyebrows jumped toward his hairline.  He gently pushed Fenris back enough to speak.  “Fenris, are you sure?  I mean- don’t think that you have to-“

Fenris silenced him with a soft kiss.  “I am sure Anders.  If you want to.”

“Yes,” Anders whispered as he drew his lover in for a slow passionate kiss, “Promise me Fenris, promise you’ll tell me to stop if-“

Fenris smiled softly.  “I will tell you.”

The mage smiled and called forth a good amount of grease, his lover’s tattoos flaring in answer to the mage’s pull on the fade.  Fenris held the strawberry lightly between his teeth and braced an arm on the headboard as he guided Anders’ fingers to his entrance.

Fenris could feel the mage’s hands shaking slightly as he painstakingly began sliding a single finger inside him.  Anders took the elf’s member back into his mouth as he slowly began to pump his finger in and out of Fenris’ tight heat.  Fenris adjusted to the sensation well enough, considering how long it had been since he had last been penetrated. 

A drop of strawberry juice splashed on Anders’ cheek as he brought a second finger inside his lover, causing the elf to bite down slightly on the supple fruit before he could stop himself.  “Fenris?”  He questioned anxiously, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on the elf’s back.  Fenris only huffed around the strawberry and gave him a look that seemed to say ‘Get on with it mage’.  Anders chuckled and avoided the strawberry to place a kiss on his lover’s nose as he continued to stretch him.

At the third finger Fenris was shaking above his lover.  Between concentrating on not coming from the attention Anders was paying his cock, the fingers brushing against his prostate and not biting through the blighted strawberry, Fenris was more than ready to give the mage both of his presents.  He stilled the mage’s hand inside him and eased it out before kneeling upright to shift back down toward Anders’ leaking and neglected erection.  He brought Anders’ hand to his own cock in a silent request for more grease, which he eagerly supplied.  Fenris then placed the stem of the strawberry between his teeth and lowered himself onto his lover’s length. 

Fenris looked into Anders’ eyes as he fought down his body’s ingrained reaction to tense against the intrusion, the soft honey brown orbs holding him safe in the here and now and keeping the ghosts of the past at bay.   Anders seemed to hold his breath, his hands trembling as he held Fenris’ hips in place.  Fenris covered his mage’s hands with his own and thread their fingers together briefly, then took a deep breath and began to move. 

Fenris had never thought himself capable of offering this part of himself to another, having thought the choice stripped from him by force a lifetime ago.  Though as Anders touched that hidden spot deep inside of him, the throbbing of his need matching the rhythm of Fenris’ heartbeat as they rocked together, he realized he’d been wrong.  Fenris’ body had been taken in the past, but this intimacy, this _trust_ was something that could never be taken from him, only given freely.  He gave his trust to Anders now, gave of himself in a way he never had before, and rather than feel chained to the mage as the former slave had feared, as he looked into his lover’s amber eyes and saw that trust reflected back, Fenris felt free.

Anders’ hands wandered from his lover's hips, reverently stroking patterns over the elf’s heated skin, his thumbs teasing dusky nipples to pebbled buds and sending shivers down Fenris’ spine.  The mage watched with rapt attention as his lover rode him, the flowing lines of his tattoos shifting with the motion of his body, all lean muscle and olive skin.  He tried desperately to let Fenris set the pace, but soon his hips began rising up to meet his lover’s downward thrusts.  Fenris threw his head back as stars danced before his eyes, exposing the long line of his neck.  He keened around that blighted strawberry in his mouth, and Anders was lost.

As their pace quickened, Fenris leaned forward to tangle his fingers in his lover's soft golden hair and dangle the strawberry before him.  Anders met him halfway to bite the berry clean through and bring it into his mouth.  He chewed and swallowed his prize hurriedly as Fenris spit the stem to the side and descended upon his mage, the fruit merely an afterthought when compared to the passionate meeting between them.  Fenris had never much favored strawberries, but quickly found his opinion of them changing as he savored the juice still clinging to Anders’ lips.

“Touch me, please-” Fenris panted as his pleasure neared its crest, the head of his lover’s length hitting his prostate every time their bodies writhed together.

Anders brought his slicked hand to fist his lover’s cock in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts.  “Fenris- I’m going to- I-“

“Come inside me Anders.”  Fenris whispered as he brought their lips together.  His brands flared, their combined heartbeats roaring in his ears and shaking him to his core, and Fenris let himself fly apart, trusting that Anders would catch him.

As Fenris tightened around him and spent himself on the mage’s stomach, Anders jerked his hips a final time and emptied his essence inside his lover, his shout of bliss muffled by Fenris’ lips. 

Fenris laid for a moment shaking from the sheer intensity of his orgasm.  Anders quickly began to stir beneath him and attempted to check for injuries with sleepy uncoordinated movements.  “Fen- are you- did I hurt you?

The elf grumbled and halfheartedly slapped his lover’s awkwardly wandering hands away.  “Quit fretting and be still mage.  I am well.”

Anders grinned at the elf's characteristic grousing and carefully rolled them unto their sides to gently pull out of his lover.  Fenris groaned a bit, but otherwise seemed unscathed as he shoved the mage onto his back once more and promptly laid on top of him, pulling a blanket over them both with a relaxed sigh.

They lay for a time too sated to move aside from lazy caresses and kisses peppered within easy reach of panting lips.  “Mmm, best Satinalia present ever.”  Anders hummed contentedly.

“I had a feeling you would approve.”  Fenris answered with a grin against his mage’s collar bone.

“You know Fenris… with you lying on me like this, you’re making it far too tempting to stay put.”  The mage had said it with a light tone that may have fooled Fenris had he not been able to feel the tension in his lover’s frame.  It was a subject they had never managed to broach, one long overdue.

Fenris shifted to lay fully atop Anders’ chest and met his eyes with a raised brow.  “Then do so.”

Anders carded a hand through Fenris’ hair, “Do you want me to stay?”  He whispered, his honey brown eyes tinged with hope.

“Do you want to?”  Fenris hedged.

The mage smirked fondly.  “I believe I asked you first.”

The elf sighed heavily as he felt his ears heat up.  “Anders I… I notice when you are not around.”  Fenris whispered, unable to convey any more just yet, still puzzling out everything between he and the complicated mage before him who had not won his trust, but _earned_ it… along with his heart.  He held his breath, hoping his awkward declaration would be enough to make Anders understand how very much he did not want him to go.

Fenris was certain the way Anders smiled at him in that moment was all he would ever need to chase away the cold and dark this Satinalia, and every one after.


End file.
